


2010 Chateau St. Jean

by IamJohnLocked4life



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drunk John, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Wine play, if that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John drinks an excessive amount of wine and tries to seduce his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2010 Chateau St. Jean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handsinpants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handsinpants/gifts), [hopelesslybenaddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslybenaddicted/gifts), [May_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/gifts), [meretriciovs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretriciovs/gifts), [MonikaKrasnorada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikaKrasnorada/gifts), [QueenMab3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMab3/gifts), [RoseinMyHand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseinMyHand/gifts).



> For my Hellions on our anniversary. Love you all so much!!! 
> 
> Inspired by a drunken group chat, the working title for this fic was Nay-Nay in the A crack.  
> Just so you know what you're in for.

"To slow-witted criminals, high-speed chases, and my brilliant boyfriend's magnificent arse." John leaned across the bed to clink his glass with Sherlock's, teetering precariously as the mattress dipped with his weight. He just barely avoided a faceplant in the duvet, thanks to a hastily thrown out elbow and sheer dumb luck. The wine sloshed in his glass, but didn't breach the rim. He caught Sherlock's eye and collapsed in breathless giggles.

"You're drunk."

"Am...not," John gasped between peals of laughter. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, face set in a faux-stern expression, which only made John laugh harder. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched.

"We're on our second bottle of wine, and I've only had one glass. When I suggested we bring the festivities to the bedroom, it was out of concern that you might pass out on your feet, and hit your head on the countertop or table on your way down."

"Mmm, not gonna pass out. Not when I've finally got you in the bedroom." He waggled his eyebrows at Sherlock suggestively. " _Our_ bedroom. God, I love saying that." He beamed up at Sherlock with such an open outpouring of pure adoration that Sherlock felt his lingering sarcasm melt away, and he returned the affection with a genuine smile of his own.

John raised his glass again. "To us." Sherlock held his wineglass in front of him and tipped his head toward John.

"To us."

John clinked his glass to Sherlock's, overextended his reach and wavered again, this time splashing Chardonnay down the front of Sherlock's Dolce & Gabbana shirt.

"Whoops! Dammit, Sherlock, sorry 'bout that." He valiantly tried not to giggle, and failed. Sherlock whisked the offending glassware out of his shaking hand and set both stems on the bedside table.

"I think you've have quite enough."

John’s gaze tracked the droplets of wine dripping from where it had pooled between Sherlock’s clavicles, down that bare expanse of chest he always left gaping (taunting, teasing) to join the wet spot spreading across taut fabric. He licked his lips.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” His eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock’s and flared with naked hunger. His prowled closer on hands and knees until his mouth was brushing the straining top button at the centre of Sherlock’s chest. He could feel Sherlock’s heartbeat speed up beneath his lips. His tongue touched where shirt met skin, and Sherlock gasped. John surged forward, licking up from sternum to throat, collecting wine on his tongue as he went. He lathed at Sherlock’s neck, and then retraced his path down, lapping the pale expanse of alcohol-infused skin until all he tasted was salt and heat and Sherlock was a keening mess underneath him.

"Mmm...delicious," he murmured against Sherlock's chest, then moved down to attack the top button with his teeth. Despite the ridiculous fit, so tight his shirts seemed perpetually on the verge of bursting open, the button proved surprisingly stubborn, resolutely committed to its sole purpose: tormenting John Watson. With a growl, John tore at the placket with his teeth, and the shirt gave way. He grinned up at Sherlock in triumph at finally wresting the button free from the hole (as well as the shirt itself).

Sherlock tried for an exasperated sigh, but it came out more breathy moan. "I suppose you'd already ruined it with the wine." Sherlock jutted his lower lip out in a pout, though he immediately ruined any admonishing effect by biting at the corner and staring down at John with lust-clouded eyes. John's smile turned feral. He fisted the expensive fabric and split the shirt open with a loud rip, followed by the ping of buttons as they scattered across the room.

John’s eyes raked over the freshly exposed skin like a starving man presented with a seven-course feast. He licked his lips again and reached for a glass of wine.

“John.”

“What, I’m thirsty. Christ, Sherlock, you’re so hot, I can hardly breathe, let alone swallow. I’m parched.”

“Alcohol is a dehydrant.”

“Yeah, I know, smartass. Who’s the one with the med degree? But I need something to wet my whistle if I’m going to keep licking that gorgeous body of yours.” A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “And since there’s no way I’m stopping now, might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He held the glass over Sherlock’s chest and tilted it just so. Chardonnay dribbled down his lean torso, sliding along the dips and curves of defined abs to settle in his navel. Sherlock’s only reaction was a twitch of stomach muscles and a shuddery intake of breath. John returned the wine to the side table, eyes never leaving the pale swath of slick bare skin. He lowered his head and inhaled deeply.

“Mmm, excellent vintage.” He rubbed his nose through the wet path of the wine, sniffing and sighing as he went. “Sophisticated and complex, with a slight bite—” He nipped at a prominent hipbone, and Sherlock jerked away with a gasp. “—and a bit acidic, but a very satisfying finish.” He swirled his tongue over the soft slope of belly and spiraled in, locking his lips around the divot in the centre and slurping noisily. Sherlock let out an undignified giggle and immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. John sucked again, and Sherlock shook with silent laughter. John sat up to glare at him, hands on Sherlock’s belt.

“Hey, this is serious stuff. I’m trying to seduce you over here!”

“Try being the operative word.”

“Oh, very funny. We’ll see who’s laughing in a minute.” His fingers grappled with the buckle. “Just as soon as I…” He continued to fumble with the belt until finally Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed John’s hands away.

“Allow me.” With a few deft movements the belt was free and his fingers were gliding over the fastenings of his trousers. “While I divest myself of these, I suggest you do the same. Hardly seems fair for you to be clothed while I’m stripped naked.”

“No, but it’s a lot more fun. For me, that is.” Sherlock shot him a look, and John heaved a sigh and rolled out of bed. “Fine, fine, I’ll strip for you, if that’s what you want.” He stood on unsteady feet and swayed his hips back and forth, in part as an approximation of a sexy dance, but mostly to regain his balance. He slid his left hand down to the button of his denims, and his right under the hem of his jumper. He fiddled with his flies as he dragged his jumper up over his head, managing to free his zip but getting caught up in his shirt. He bent over to ease his jeans over his hips, head still lost in a tunnel of wool, and hopped from one foot to another as he wiggled them down. His right elbow caught in its sleeve and he started to topple forward, wildly thrashing against gravity. When his denims slid down his shins, trapping his ankles, he crashed to the floor in a tangle of clothes and limbs.

For a long second, the room was silent and still. Then John jumped to his feet, finally freeing himself of jumper and shirt with a dramatic flourish.

“Ta-da!” He looked up at Sherlock, jeans still around his ankles, and burst out laughing. Sherlock blinked back at him.

“Good lord, I really am in love with an idiot.”

John shuffled towards him, giggling and hiccoughing in turn.

“Who’s the big- _hic_ -ger idiot? The _hic_ -idiot, or the idiot in- _hic_ love with the idiot?” Sherlock chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re right, we’re both incredibly thick.”

“Two fools- _hic_ in love.” John gave Sherlock a dopey grin (which Sherlock couldn’t help but return) and then promptly stumbled, flopping face-first on the bed. He quickly recovered, twisting to face Sherlock while he wriggled out of his jeans. He propped himself up on an elbow, a picture of suave nonchalance, save for the denims still tangled in his toes. With a satisfied kick, he flung them to the floor and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

“Well then, hot stuff, where were we?”

Sherlock snorted. “Hot stuff? Does that sort of language actually work on anyone?”

“You love it, you saucy minx. Now get over here.” Sherlock slid closer to John, who was busy devouring his long, lithe body with hungry eyes, as if just now noticing that he was completely naked. “I want to eat you whole.”

Sherlock smirked and dragged a finger over his cock, which twitched with growing interest. “That can be arranged.”

“Oooh, you tease.” John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and brought that tempting finger to his mouth. He licked and sucked and Sherlock melted and moaned. By the time John was done worshipping the elegantly tapered digit, Sherlock’s erection was bobbing against his stomach with insistent need.

“Who’s...the tease...now...John?” Sherlock managed to pant out between ragged breaths.

“Oh, you’ll get what’s coming to you.” John knelt between Sherlock’s legs and brought his lips in line with his prize. “I just intend to savour—” a lick to the left thigh “—every—” a lick to the right “—last drop.” He flicked his tongue over the head of Sherlock’s cock, groaning with pleasure at the taste of precome leaking from the tip. He worked his way down the shaft, tracing light patterns along the ridges and veins, relishing how it grew harder in response.

“John…” There was a pleading note in Sherlock’s wrecked voice, but John kept moving lower, over the soft sac, already drawing up tighter, and then even lower still. When his tongue pressed against perineum, Sherlock’s entire body spasmed, and John basked in the heady thrill of power over this beautiful, brilliant man. He sat back, ignoring Sherlock’s whimper of protest, and lightly slapped the underside of Sherlock’s thigh.

“Roll over.” Sherlock scrambled to comply, propping himself up on all fours and looking over his shoulder expectantly. John stroked his hands down Sherlock’s flanks, thumbs pressing in at the sacrum to encourage his spine to arch. “Gorgeous.” Sherlock canted his hips further and tossed his head, preening at the praise. The deep sway in his spine formed a long channel from waist to arse, and John’s eyes lit up with inspiration.

When the first drops hit Sherlock’s back, he flinched and narrowed his eyes at John.

“Really, this again? I had no idea you were such an oenophile.” John just swatted his bum and poured a thin stream of wine down his back.

“Don’t move, or you’ll make a mess.”

“If you didn’t want a mess, maybe you shouldn’t ha—ahhh!” His tirade broke off in a gasp as John followed the trail of wine with his tongue, all the way to where it trickled between his cleft. John hummed and spread his cheeks before delving in for more. The sharp acidic tang of the wine mingled with Sherlock’s rich musk, the play of flavours zinging like fireworks on his tongue. Suddenly, he couldn’t get enough, lapping and thrusting deeper with every pass, seeking out more of this intoxicating blend. He was barely aware of Sherlock’s increasingly frantic noises, only registering his partner’s desperate state when he heard his name.

“John, oh god, _John_ , please John, I’ll do anything, just please, I need, I _need_ …”

John wiped a hand over his dripping chin, then ran his fingers through Sherlock’s cleft for good measure. He slid his wet palm over Sherlock’s balls, gathering more fluids that had collected there, and finally wrapped his slick hand around Sherlock’s aching cock. Sherlock let out a deep, guttural noise of relief, and immediately began fucking himself into John’s hand.

“Is that better?”

“Nnnggh, yes, John, _yes_ , so good, so good—more, give me more, John!”

John tightened his grip and dove back in. He matched the thrusts of his tongue to Sherlock’s pace, following in time as Sherlock chased his climax. With a wrenching sob, Sherlock stiffened and jerked in John’s hand, contracting and pulsing around John’s tongue, pleasure coursing through his body.

When the last tremor subsided, he slumped down on the bed, and John withdrew his hand and mouth, giving one last swipe of his tongue and a tender kiss to his cheek. Sherlock mumbled something into the pillows and let his hips drop to the mattress, utterly spent. John flopped down next to him and rearranged their limbs so they were curled towards one another. Sherlock snuffled into John’s shoulder, and John slid an arm around his back. They lay in peaceful silence for a few moments until Sherlock yawned, loud and jaw-cracking. He quickly covered his mouth in embarrassment.

“Sorry, just give me a minute.”

“No worries, love, it’s been a long day. I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, and he slid a hand along the elastic waistband of John’s pants.

“Don’t you want...anything? In return, I mean.”

John chucked, and pulled Sherlock closer, hands cupping his arse.

“Now, don’t say I told you so, but I think you were right. I did have too much to drink.”

“I’m always right, John.”

“Shut up, you.” He gave Sherlock a light swat to the bum. “Anyway, think I might be out of a commission for a bit. Yes, ha bloody ha. Doesn’t matter, I had a fantastic time. You were amazing. God, the noises you made when you came, that could fuel wank fantasies for the rest of my life.”

Sherlock propped his chin on John’s chest and gazed up at him through sated, heavy lashes.

“What in my life did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Hmm, died and came back to life for me, twice in fact. I reckon that’s enough to inspire spontaneous spectacular favours of a sexual nature from time to time.” He gave Sherlock a cocky wink and a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a truly magnificent arse.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> From a review of the 2010 Chateau St. Jean Robert Young Vineyard Chardonnay: "Melon, peach, firm, steely, brioche, with lingering elegance." Which read to me as "Sherlock ass play provided by Captain Watson."
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://iamjohnlocked4life.tumblr.com/) ~ Please say hi, I love to chat!


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